


First Lights

by NotThatLamia



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Multi, Post Season 4, Spoilers for Season 5
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-04-26 09:56:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14399676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotThatLamia/pseuds/NotThatLamia
Summary: Collection of ficlets as posted on tumblr.





	1. Sparring partners (Echo x Raven)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That first clip was a lot.

 

 

It’s not as if Raven has only just started to like girls. It’s not even that’s she’s just started noticing she might. It’s only never been an issue in space, before, when Finn was always around. Later, on the ground, with the constant threat of an impending apocalypse turning each passing day into a fight for survival, and each surprising moment of quiet into a gift, sex had begun to matter even less.

Now, it shows up at the back of her mind again and again as possibly the best way to discharge tension. It should be. It’s been literal years since Raven’s felt someone else’s skin flush against her own, and she’s getting so jumpy that it might very well be the case. And Raven hates the feeling of not having everything under control.

It’s the practical thing to do. Quite straightforward. She’s got an itch. She needs to scratch it.

Most importantly, she’s not going to ask Bellamy for this particular kind of help. Not this time. Not after what’s already happened between them.

Nor she’d go to one of the others. If there’s one thing Raven would never do, that’s consciously causing as much pain to someone as Finn did to her.

So that leaves Echo.

And yet, to be perfectly honest, it’s also very much not a matter of practicality what pushes her. Not exclusively, at least. She would be crazy to deny that.

There’s a certain way Echo tilts her head or purses her lips or straightens her shoulders that always manages to make a pleasant shiver go down Raven’s back. There’s also the times when Echo enters a room quietly, unannounced, and Raven’s pulse starts racing. And there’s the ever-frequent pregnant silences, and the held gazes, and the shared looks charged with unspoken questions.

She waits until her turn to spar with Echo comes. And when they eventually end up on the floor, Raven’s body pinning Echo’s down and her arms trapping the other girl’s head, Raven intentionally loses her grip on Echo’s neck and looks straight into her eyes.

“Are we done?” Raven asks, intertwining her fingers with her partner’s and slightly canting her hips against Echo’s.

There’s nothing but confusion on the other girl’s face at first. It lasts for a few moments, enough for Echo’s eyes to travel sideways, settle on their hands, and slowly widen in realization. The hint of a smirk shows up on her face, and Raven takes that as an encouragement to caress Echo’s jaw with her lips. Echo exhales and tilts her head in Raven’s direction, her lips going to cover Raven’s.

The kiss starts unexpectedly sweet and soft for a mouth usually that stern. Everything else that follows is perfectly efficient, and that’s no big shock for Raven really. She feels Echo’s palm cupping the back of her head and the strength of her whole body pushing her and turning them over until Raven’s on her back. The top of her thigh is flush against Raven’s pelvis in no time, but when Raven tries to lift herself to get more friction from the position by herself, Echo’s hands grip her hips and pin Raven firmly to the ground. It’s so surprisingly arousing letting her take the lead that Raven doesn’t even think to object.

In her experience, there’s always fumbling in first kisses, some form of hesitation that speaks of deeper questions and doubts. Not with Echo. She’s probably less affectionate and foreplay-oriented than Raven might be used to, but she adores her for how fast she catches the smallest of her hints, how focused she is to get to the point. And Raven thinks she might just get used to Echo’s intensity, to the way her tongue decisively strokes hers and her fingers grab her ass. And the fact that at some point Echo cautiously lifts her up and half-carries her until Raven’s lying on the dining table a few steps away is definitely something she has no reservations about. It’s also something Monty might get very annoyed by. But it’s not like anyone’s ever gonna know about that.

 

 

 


	2. Once (Bellarke + background Becho)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick Bellarke ficlet written to get ready for The Hug That Is Gonna End Us All (or rather The Hug That Was Supposed to End Us All and Only Kind of Did in the End).

Once, years ago, Bellamy had dreamt of finding Clarke safe on the ground. In his dream they hugged, then sat next to each other on a log in front of a bonfire, much like they had done on the first – and last – Unity Day ever celebrated on Earth. They were so close he could’ve accidentally brushed his knee against hers – if he liked –, so close that he could’ve seen the dancing flames reflected in her eyes.

That Bellamy too knew peace was fleeting, yet he had a bigger appreciation for it, apparently. Nonetheless, he waited for the others to go to sleep before telling her. He hesitated at first, of course, but then an “I was in love with you once” slipped through his traitorous lips in a murmur, before he even had a chance to consider its phrasing. She raised her head to meet his gaze. He feared she was upset, as he was equally terrorized she might get the wrong sense out of his words.

“Bellamy-” she tried, but there was really nothing she could have said at that point, and she could hear from his voice something was still left unspoken.

“I was sure you had died,” he quickly added. “I thought you had left me forever. And you had been a fucking hero, I couldn’t even resent you for that.”

He turned to the fire, leaned forward and covered his face with his hands. Bellamy almost jumped up when he felt Clarke’s hand gently squeezing his thigh. He swallowed and gave a bitter chuckle instead. “I don’t know if it comes as a surprise to you, actually. I never understood if you knew.”

“In retrospect, you weren’t that subtle about it. It was me who didn’t want to see it.”

He should have known then that it was a dream: the real Clarke could’ve never let him off the hook that easily.

“I was so gone.”

“You were,” she nodded. But there was no irony in Clarke’s voice, nor sadness. There was a fondness that made Bellamy’s heart do a familiar flip in his chest.

“Clarke,” he tried, and he didn’t even know what more to reveal, if there could be anything he might feel compelled to learn from her at this point.

He remembers how he saw her exhale, swallow, turn imperceptibly towards him. Weirdly, he was calmer than he ever thought he could be. He reached a hand to her face, cradled her jaw in his palm. She actually moved to lean into him, squeezed his other hand harder and turned it to tangle her fingers with his.

Bellamy has never been great at catching signals, that much is true, but even his dream self was aware that after all those years he’d never actually stopped thinking about her. It had just changed, turning from a delusion to a fond memory. He was so concentrated on his own obsessive thoughts, not wanting to freak her out, to assume and take what she might not be consciously giving, he missed the instant when her expression changed from fond to amused. So when she kissed him, he was blatantly taken by surprise. A peck on the lips that ended so fast he didn’t even have the promptness to react. His face must have been hilarious. In equal parts he wanted to throw up and scream at the top of his lungs. At least, he was not so dumb he could be unaware of the uncertainty in her smile, the hint of fear in her eyes. She was everything he had ever wanted, once, in those few stressful hours when he had been sure his sister was safe in the bunker and that Raven was going to bring the eight of them safely in space once again. He kissed her back, enveloping her in a tight hug, hoping that the act alone could make the depth of his feelings palpable. He remembers how ashamed he felt, that he was so desperate he could barely show the same generosity and lightness of her previous kiss. But that Clarke didn’t care, instead preferring to part her lips and move onto his lap. Bellamy’s heart was beating so fast he feared it was going to explode with happiness, his mind was blank, his hands seemed to have set on her hips of their own volition.

And then a voice woke him up.

One that wasn’t Clarke’s.

Nor Octavia’s.

Echo’s beautiful, worried face was over his. She had been the one providing him with comfort for the past weeks, she’d been the one he had chosen to dedicate those words of love to, just a few hours before. Back then, Bellamy had meant each and every one of them. He had come up with them specifically for her. And no matter what his unconscious mind believed he felt for someone else, he had found in Echo his partner. And that was good, and comfortable.

That was also a long time ago.

Now that he’s on Earth and Clarke’s alive, Bellamy’s more confused than he’s ever been.


	3. The Question (Bellamy x Clarke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it even a fic when it’s this short? Anyway, Bellamy thinks about Octavia’s words to him.

 

 

Sitting in the darkest corner of an unlit room would be depressing enough in and of itself. For Bellamy, it’s the thing that contributes the least to the ridiculous melancholy he’s feeling. It’s been a week, and a question keeps gnawing at his mind. It comes and goes - life is way too complicated at the moment for comparatively trivial thoughts to linger in his conscience.

Bellamy instinctively traces the neat letters of Clarke’s handwriting on the spot of Octavia’s map where he knows he would find them, if only there was enough light.

_A traitor…_

Octavia’s voice comes back to torment his brain, the roughness and the darkness of her tone highlighting each sound of that sour word.

He scoffs and settles back on his chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, as if the answer could come from the damp boards above him. It’s started raining hours before, inexplicably, and he’s beginning to think the wood might be rotting with all that water. It would be a great metaphor for his current state of mind, like any other grim and gloomy thing seems to be.

_… who you love._

He could swear her eyes almost softened when pronouncing those words, no matter how blatantly her disgust was seared into them. Not that it could matter to anyone other than him. She would never admit to being vulnerable, after all. Not this Octavia.

Here’s the question. Once again.

That he loves Clarke he has never doubted. He probably loved her even before she sliced Atom’s throat before of his eyes.

No, the question is not if he loves her - as if he could ever truly stop once he’d started. Nor is it why - how can you not when she’s the most breathtaking individual he’s ever met.

But now that everything’s changed - that  _he_ ’s changed and she is even more - how can he still love her? How can he  _still_  hold in the recesses of his heart and soul the crazy hope that one day she’ll eventually choose to stand by his side? How can he feel like a part of himself is missing when he’s had Echo, and Raven, and a whole crew next to him for six years? 

And that’s the question he will probably never find an answer to.

 

 


End file.
